


(Please Don't) Look Into My Eyes

by AppleSeeds



Series: Opticians [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Attraction, Awkwardness, Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Patient (Good Omens), Internal Monologue, M/M, Nervous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Overthinking, Shy Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: Aziraphale needs some new nifty little reading glasses, but he can’t cope with how gorgeous, attentive and lovely Crowley, his new optician, is. The fact that Crowley keeps leaning in close, casually touching him and staring into his eyes really isn’t helping. Welcome to the sweet torture that is Aziraphale’s eye test from hell.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Opticians [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988209
Comments: 80
Kudos: 293
Collections: GO Meet-Cutes, Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable Humans AU





	(Please Don't) Look Into My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So... I managed to write something that’s possibly even more ridiculous and self-indulgent than “YES. YES. YES. GOODBYE?”! What even is this? I’m not really sure. But let’s take a lovely, caring, ASMR-inducing Crowley and a talking-to-himself complete nervous wreck Aziraphale (I'm sure those of you who have read “Changing of the Seasons” will recognise that particular combination) and then throw them together and incessantly torture Aziraphale, because that’s always so much fun. Enjoy...!

A very pleasant, if slightly awkward, young man named Newt had just finished Aziraphale’s intraocular pressure and peripheral vision tests. After jotting down a few notes onto a clipboard ( _I wonder what he’s writing? I do hope I passed_ ), he had shown Aziraphale to a consultation room. Aziraphale was now sitting in a slightly elevated chair, facing a blank wall and clutching the case containing his nifty little reading glasses in his lap. The door to the consultation room opened, and Aziraphale glanced up towards it.

_Oh no. Is **he** the optician? Seriously? Oh... no._

The optician was wearing a slim-fitting white lab coat (presumably just for the aesthetic, although for some reason the image of him dissecting an eyeball later crossed Aziraphale’s mind), open over a dark grey formal shirt and _very_ tight black trousers.

“Hi, Aziraphale? I’m Crowley, I’ll be doing your eye test today.”

Aziraphale forced his eyes upwards in response to the greeting, taking in the man’s perfectly-styled short copper hair, his serene customer service smile, and the tinted glasses that were (fortunately or unfortunately, Aziraphale hadn’t decided yet) concealing his eyes.

_Oh, and I cannot stress this enough, **no**! He is **gorgeous**! I’m really not sure I can cope with this._

Aziraphale’s stomach did a few somersaults and his heart started beating so hard and fast beneath his sternum that it felt like it was trying to break free from his chest. Aziraphale was relieved he didn’t have an appointment for a blood pressure check straight after his eye test; he suspected his doctor might have been rather concerned about the results.

Crowley closed the door behind him and stepped over towards Aziraphale, clipboard tucked under his arm and his right hand held out in greeting. Aziraphale released his glasses case, rubbed his palm discreetly against his trousers, and then shook the man’s proffered hand.

Crowley gripped his hand firmly and smiled, and Aziraphale’s lips parted involuntarily while his lungs struggled to even remember what their job was, let alone how to perform it. Thank God Aziraphale couldn’t see the man’s eyes, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it, certainly in combination with that _smile_.

_This isn’t fair. Why is this happening to me?_

Aziraphale retracted his hand as quickly as social expectations would allow. How could he be expected to just be _completely fine_ with the fact that he would be alone for nearly half an hour with someone who was the earthly embodiment of perfection and temptation? And, _furthermore_ , the fact that for the duration of that time, he would be the sole focus of the man’s attention?

_I can’t breathe._

Crowley sat down on a stool with wheels beside Aziraphale and studied the piece of paper attached to the clipboard he’d brought in with him. Aziraphale’s eyes unconsciously drifted downwards, noticing how Crowley’s lab coat parted on either side of the stool, and how the fabric of his trousers had seemed to tighten further now that Crowley had sat down.

_How on Earth does he even get into them?_

_How on Earth does he get **out** of them? Good Lord, he probably needs a pair of scissors. That would be an expensive way to dress, though._

_Yes, but completely worth it._

_Stop it, I can’t be having thoughts like that right now!_

“This all looks good,” Crowley said, smiling _again_ as if it were just something he could go around doing without causing everyone who beheld it to melt into a puddle of goo.

_Such a reckless man. Oh well, at least I passed the tests._

Crowley glanced down at the clipboard again and typed some numbers into the computer (while Aziraphale vaguely wondered why Newt couldn’t have just done that for him) before clicking onto the next screen.

“So your last eye test was about a year ago?”

 _Oh God_ , _that_ **_voice_**. Crowley was speaking to him in a tone that was soft and low, probably intended to be calming. It was the _opposite_ of calming.

“Yes, that sounds about right,” Aziraphale croaked. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. Crowley glanced at him briefly then back to the computer screen.

“Any problems?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. I do think I might need new reading glasses.”

“You’ve got them with you?” Crowley asked, but nodded towards the case in Aziraphale’s lap and held his hand out expectantly.

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale replied, handing his glasses over, taking an _extraordinary_ amount of care not to brush his fingers against Crowley’s in the process. There was no way his body could handle that. He was already horrified to notice that his hands were trembling slightly with nerves.

Crowley took his glasses out of the case and held them under a scanner before setting them down delicately at his side and typing some more numbers into the computer. Aziraphale watched the movement of Crowley’s hands, entranced. The careful way he had handled Aziraphale’s glasses, the precise and rapid movements of his fingers over the keyboard, the way his thumb and little finger curled around the mouse and his long, slender index finger glided along the scrolling wheel...

_Stop it. This is completely inappropriate._

Aziraphale turned away and closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so flustered. He _never_ got like this. He was never one to look at a total stranger and find himself instantly attracted to them, but there was something about Crowley that had lit a fire within him, which had melted his insides and instantly reduced him to a quivering wreck. He drew in a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart. It worked, to an extent, until Crowley reached up and removed his own tinted glasses, placing them on the desk beside him.

_No! Don’t do that! Put them back on!_

Crowley turned his attention away from the computer screen and leaned a little closer to Aziraphale, his deep, golden brown eyes trained directly on Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale squirmed in the chair.

_Oh, don’t look into my eyes. **Please** don’t look into my eyes. Oh God, he’s an optician, it’s **literally** his **job** to look into my eyes._

“Any changes to your medical information?”

“No.”

“Are you taking any medication?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?” Crowley challenged gently.

“No,” Aziraphale repeated emphatically. Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You seem as though you don’t believe me,” Aziraphale muttered indignantly, to which Crowley just chuckled.

“Of course I do. It’s just your pupils are quite large. Do you have any family history of anything affecting the nervous system?”

Aziraphale shook his head. He would have been very concerned for his health if he didn’t know _exactly_ why his pupils were enlarged right now. He frowned and tensely clutched his arms across his stomach.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing to be concerned about,” Crowley reassured softly. “I’ll just make a note of it so we have a reference point for next time.”

_Oh no!_

Aziraphale could just imagine the situation, one year from now, sitting in this very chair with a different optician reading the note Crowley was now typing into the computer, then looking at Aziraphale’s eyes for themselves and finding pupils of a perfectly normal diameter. They would then check the screen to see which optician had performed this test, and would give Aziraphale a _knowing look_.

On the bright side, Aziraphale lived in London, so there was no shortage of other opticians he could go to in order to avoid that situation arising. It was disappointing though, he was a creature of habit and had been coming here since he was a teenager. He hugged his arms tighter around himself and swallowed involuntarily.

“Hey, really, it’s ok, I promise. There’s huge variation in pupil diameter in the population. You could consider it a good thing, people with large pupils are generally considered more attractive.”

_Just let me die._

“Which could be because our pupils dilate when we see someone that we ourselves find attractive,” Crowley continued. Aziraphale didn’t respond, he just pressed his lips together and stared back at Crowley. Aziraphale had heard the expression ‘wanting the ground to open up and swallow you’, but this was the first time he could recall ever experiencing it quite so literally.

_Please. I’m begging you. Just let me die right now._

“Ok,” Crowley announced cheerfully, “let’s get started with the test.”

He reached over to flick off a light switch, the lighting in the room reduced to the small patch of white on the wall in front of Aziraphale, emanating from the projector. Beholding Crowley’s gorgeousness in the reduced illumination was somehow even worse. It felt _intimate_.

“I can tell you’re nervous,” Crowley murmured soothingly, “is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?”

And then it finally happened. Aziraphale actually _did_ die inside.

_That means I can leave, right? Dead people don’t need eyes._

“I... I’m sorry.”

Crowley pouted and tilted his head.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s all right,” he said, tone sweet and gentle. “It’s really common. I’m not going to stick something in your eye or anything, I promise you. This really is nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, I know. I come every year. I don’t know why I get like this.”

_Oh, Aziraphale, that’s **lying**. _

_Technically no. I **do** come every year. And I **don’t** know why I’m getting like this._

_You doooooo._

“Well, is there anything I can do to make you feel more at ease?”

_Stop talking. Stop looking at me. Don’t smile. Don’t do anything with your hands. Take your trousers off. No, I mean, **change** your trousers! Maybe transform yourself into something hideous._

“I don’t know.”

Crowley smiled at him sympathetically and used his feet to wheel himself away from the computer so he was sitting right in front of Aziraphale.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop doing something.”

_Good Lord, he’s making it sound like I think he’s about to perform some kind of horrible procedure. Do I really seem that nervous?_

_Well, you **are** , so probably, yes._

“Right,” Aziraphale choked. Crowley smiled again ( _stop it, **please** , I’m **begging** you_) and then ( _oh no, oh **no**_ ) he rested his palm tenderly on Aziraphale’s forearm for a moment.

_Why ever would he think that would make me feel calmer? Why, I ask you? **Why**?_

“We’ll check your distance vision first, let me just put these extremely stylish glasses on you,” Crowley joked, the same joke he must use in every single appointment on every single day, picking up the huge, clunky plastic frames from the desk beside him. Aziraphale’s thoughts about the potential repetitiveness of Crowley’s work had dangerously delayed his consideration of an important part of what Crowley had just said.

_Wait, let **me** put these on you? _

Crowley carefully unfolded the arms of the glasses and came closer, positioning them so they rested on the bridge of Aziraphale’s nose and tucking them behind his ears. He was leaning in extremely close ( _oh for goodness’ sake,_ _is this **really** necessary?_) and his fingertips brushed lightly against Aziraphale’s hair, generating a tingling sensation across his scalp. Crowley then adjusted the frames to fit securely, his unoccupied fingers curled next to Aziraphale’s temples, unintentionally but persistently tapping lightly against his skin as the adjustments were made. Crowley then leaned back and appeared to appraise him.

“Very nice,” he teased. Aziraphale’s cheeks were burning.

Crowley picked up a small remote control from the desk and pressed a button on it. The projector flickered into life and the usual series of letters were displayed on the wall in front of Aziraphale. He’d been getting his eyes tested every year for as long as he could remember and they never bothered to change the letters, so he always had to try to make sure he could actually read them and didn’t just know what they were from memory.

Following Crowley’s instruction, Aziraphale read out the smallest line of letters he could decipher on the screen.

“Perfect,” Crowley praised. Aziraphale screamed internally and clenched his fists at his sides.

Crowley then began the usual process of fitting different lenses into the glasses and asking Aziraphale if they improved the appearance of the letters or made them worse. Every time, he leaned in _so close_ , and seemed to take far longer than was actually necessary to swap over the lenses, as though he were afraid that if he moved too fast Aziraphale would bolt like a startled animal.

Aziraphale just tried his best to keep breathing, to go through the motions and, most importantly, to _not look at Crowley_.

“Ok great. Your distance vision is excellent.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale croaked. Crowley swapped over the lenses in the frames once again and the letters on the screen became blurry.

“You did say you thought you might need new reading glasses? Here, have a look at this for me,” Crowley said, handing Aziraphale a card, “and tell me which is the smallest section of text you can read?”

Aziraphale did so, and then Crowley swapped in some other lenses until he found the combination that allowed Aziraphale to read the smallest text on the card.

“All done,” he announced, reaching out (without sufficient warning for Aziraphale to mentally prepare himself) and carefully unhooking the hideous plastic glasses from over Aziraphale’s ears. His fingertips grazed Aziraphale’s hair and the top of his ears, and Aziraphale’s pulse climbed once more. Crowley then took the card full of printed text back, not giving Aziraphale enough time to ensure he was holding the card only by the corner to avoid any contact with Crowley. When their fingers brushed against each other, pulses of electricity shot up Aziraphale’s arm and spread throughout his body. 

_How am I ever going to survive this?_

Crowley pulled a large contraption around in front of Aziraphale’s chair and started wiping it down.

“So, have you got any nice plans for after this?” Crowley asked politely.

“I’m sorry?”

“What have you got planned for this afternoon? There’s a food festival in town today.”

“I know.”

_Come on, Aziraphale, you can do better than this! He’s being so sweet trying to make you feel less nervous, stop making it so hard for him!_

“You going to take a look?”

“Probably.”

_Aziraphale, come **on**!_

“I’m going to miss it, unfortunately. One of the downsides of working weekends.”

“Right,” Aziraphale muttered in response, far too aware of his basic bodily functions like breathing and swallowing and _existing_. Crowley flinched slightly.

“I’m sorry, we don’t need to talk. It usually makes people feel more comfortable. I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale’s stomach lurched with guilt. Crowley threw away the wipe he’d been using on the apparatus, which he nudged into its final position. At least there was some kind of protective barrier between them now.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re very kind,” Aziraphale managed, spurred on by an intense desire to assuage his guilt. Crowley smiled warmly, and Aziraphale, hopefully subtly, clutched the sides of the chair. “And yes, I will be going to the food festival,” Aziraphale continued. “Last year the crepes were absolutely scrumptious.”

“Scrumptious, eh? Well, maybe I’ll have to see if I can sneak out on my lunch break,” Crowley chuckled. He then instructed Aziraphale to place his chin on the rest and lean his head against the bar of the apparatus, which he did, bringing them even closer together ( _oh well,_ _so much for the protective barrier_ ).

Aziraphale was finding the effort of trying to maintain his composure and then forcing himself to actually speak exhausting, so despite his increased proximity to Crowley, it was almost a relief to have something to rest his head against.

“I’m going to turn the projector off now so it’ll go dark, but then I’ll be switching on the light on the slit lamp, all right?”

Aziraphale nodded slightly, his forehead and chin knocking uncomfortably against the apparatus.

_Ouch._

_You could just try... **responding with words**?_

Crowley pressed another button on his remote control, and the room went dark for a second before another light appeared, originating from the apparatus and pointing right at Aziraphale’s eyes. The room was so quiet that the pounding of Aziraphale’s heartbeat in his ears was almost deafening, but the gentle clicking sound emanating from the apparatus as Crowley adjusted it was strangely soothing.

“I’m just going to be checking the health of your eyes, nothing to worry about, it’s all routine.”

_I **know**! Oh God, I seriously need to calm down. _

The thought that Crowley felt the need to reassure him and therefore could still tell how nervous he was only served to encourage Aziraphale to start breathing even faster and his muscles to tense even more.

“You ok?” Crowley asked, his voice now almost a whisper.

_Not particularly, no!_

Aziraphale responded with another uncomfortable nod. Words had apparently gone back to being things that only _other people_ actually used.

“Ok then, just look straight ahead at the wall behind me.”

Crowley then used his feet to move his wheely stool even closer. His knees brushed up against Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale winced, how much tension he could actually hold in his body being tested to its absolute limit. He drew in a shuddering breath and stared steadfastly at the wall in front of him.

Crowley shifted the light source and focused through the eyepiece of the apparatus, looking straight into Aziraphale’s right eye. Crowley’s hands moved to different parts of the machinery, making adjustments that generated more hypnotic clicking sounds. The light was bright and thankfully prevented Aziraphale from being able to see Crowley very clearly, and the room became decorated with the patterns of the blood vessels in his eye.

“Look over to your right,” Crowley murmured softly, so close that Aziraphale could even feel his warm breath on his face.

_This is torture. This thing is an actual **torture** **device**._

“And look left for me.”

_Oh, don’t say it like that. I think I’d do anything for you. I’d probably let you actually dissect **my** eyeball if you asked me like that._

Aziraphale looked over to his left, desperately wishing that Crowley could have turned out to be abrasive and rude. If he had, Aziraphale would have been able to overcome his initial response to Crowley’s undeniable physical attractiveness by now, but as it was, his heart was still racing and he was tingling all over.

“Now look up. You’ll feel me just touching your eyelid.”

_Oh **no** , I forgot about this part!_

Crowley’s warm thumb pressed down gently under Aziraphale’s eye, opening it wider. Aziraphale flinched and jumped back away from the apparatus.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry, it’s ok. Do you not like people touching your eyes? That’s completely normal, you’re all right,” Crowley reassured him, leaning back away from the eyepiece.

Aziraphale would _definitely_ need to find a new optician. How terribly inconvenient.

“Want to take a minute?”

_No, I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. I might think about you later though. How gorgeous you were, how softly you spoke to me, the way you looked into my eyes, how warm your hands were, how much you wanted me to feel at ease._

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale croaked, closing his eyes for a second, steeling himself, and then placing his head back into position.

“I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Aziraphale breathed in deeply and nodded against the head rest. Crowley waited a moment before returning to his previous position.

“Look up for me, whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale complied immediately, eager to escape the torture chamber, and this time, Crowley placed his thumb lower, just above Aziraphale’s cheekbone, pulling down gently on the skin. After a couple of seconds, it was over.

_You have another eye though._

_Oh, stop it!_

_Also the looking down part, you haven’t done **that** yet._

_Oh God._

“Perfect,” Crowley murmured with a smile.

_Oh, don’t. Please don’t._

Crowley wasn’t even patronising him. He was just being... _nice_ , which Aziraphale really didn’t feel he deserved given the rather inappropriate reason for his discomfort.

“Now look down for me, and I’ll just need to lift your upper eyelid slightly. I’ll be gentle.”

Aziraphale’s pulse spiked. In the quiet of the room he could hear how his own breathing quickened even more, and prayed that Crowley wouldn’t notice.

 **_Please_ ** _don’t be gentle. Just poke me in the eye or something; I really do think that would help._

_Well, **that’s** not normal._

_I don’t think I’ve ever claimed to be **normal**. That ship sailed a long time ago._

Crowley reached up and pressed gently on Aziraphale’s upper eyelid. His skin prickled and warmth spread throughout his chest. Crowley quickly adjusted the eyepiece and then withdrew his hand.

Aziraphale was slightly concerned that Crowley had completed that part of the examination so quickly that he might have missed a problem with his eye, but he reassured himself that firstly, Crowley would have insisted on taking more time if he’d seen any indication of a problem, and secondly, that there was unlikely to be anything catastrophic that had originated since last year that couldn’t wait until next year to be dealt with, by a _different optician_.

“Nearly done, just look straight at me now,” Crowley murmured softly, tapping his fingertip just to the side of his right eye, the left still focusing through the eyepiece.

_Do I **have** to?_

_Oh, as if you don’t want to._

Aziraphale clutched his hands together in his lap and looked into Crowley’s visible eye. He couldn’t see very well, with the only light in the room extremely bright and shining directly into one of his eyes, but for a moment, before he focused through the eyepiece, Crowley’s eye locked directly on Aziraphale’s and caused his heart to leap up into his throat.

“Ok great, one eye down,” Crowley announced cheerfully, sitting back and adjusting the apparatus again. Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re very patient.”

“Not really,” Crowley mumbled, shaking his head. Aziraphale tensed again, hoping that wasn’t intended to mean that he was testing the limits of Crowley’s patience. “No patience required. You’re doing fine, trust me.”

“Have you been doing this a long time?”

_Oh! Those sounded like actual **words**! Well done!_

“Yeah, about fifteen years. I’ve only been here for a few months though, but I’m enjoying working with the people here.”

“Yes, everyone who works here seems very nice.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them you said so,” Crowley smiled. “Ready for the other eye?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale replied uncertainly, suddenly concerned that Crowley hadn’t realised he should include himself in Aziraphale’s assessment of the staff. Aziraphale’s mind rehearsed various ways he could clarify it, to make sure Crowley recognised how much Aziraphale appreciated how wonderful he was being and that he thought he was nice too, but he ultimately couldn’t bring himself to say any of it out loud.

Keeping the eyelid touching to a minimum, Crowley efficiently completed his examination of Aziraphale’s left eye and switched the lights back on.

“You can sit back now.”

Aziraphale fell back into the chair and worked on trying to decrease the speed of his breathing. Crowley scooted back over to the computer on his stool.

“Nearly done. You know, I’m glad you still make the effort to come for an eye test every year even though you feel nervous. Too many people avoid it but it’s really important. I know, obviously I would say that, but it is.”

Aziraphale was currently envying those clever people who ignored the reminders that their eye test was due.

“I’m not normally as bad as all this,” Aziraphale said in an attempt to defend himself, but he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

_On second thoughts, maybe **don’t** use words._

“Oh,” Crowley began, turning his attention away from the computer and back to Aziraphale. “In that case, I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he finished despondently.

“No! No, I didn’t mean...” Aziraphale rubbed his eyes. _Lord, help me!_ “I just mean it’s been one of those days.”

Crowley pouted and tilted his head again, which felt a little bit like he’d reached through Aziraphale’s chest and started squeezing on his heart. Aziraphale crumpled in the chair in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Well then, I hope I haven’t made it too much worse.”

“Not at all. You’ve been very kind to me. I really am very grateful, thank you.”

_Ok, good. That was good._

Crowley smiled and turned back to the screen. He licked his lips and started typing information into the computer.

“Well, some good news to hopefully improve your day: your eyes look extremely healthy and your distance vision is perfect. You were right, though, you do need new reading glasses. Would you like to get new lenses fitted in the frames you have or would you like to get some new ones?”

“I think I’ll need to get some new ones. I can’t be doing without them, now, I’m afraid, and I certainly need them for work.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“I run a bookshop.”

Crowley laughed softly. “Then yes, I can see why it would be difficult to do without reading glasses. Where’s your bookshop? Around here?”

“Yes.”

“Had it long?”

“Quite a while, yes.”

_Oh, come **on**. It’s nearly over now. Calm down. **Words** , Aziraphale!_

_What happened to **not** using words?_

_Fine, just keep staring at him, I’m sure it’s not at all disturbing._

_Oh God._

But despite his inner turmoil, and although Aziraphale had desperately wanted his eye test to end, now that it finally had, his heart actually felt a little heavy at the prospect of walking away from Crowley’s gentle radiance.

“Right, well, let’s go and look at some new frames then,” Crowley proposed, not quite as cheerfully as he’d spoken to Aziraphale earlier.

_I think I’m like a vampire, but instead of blood I drain the **enthusiasm** out of people._

Crowley put his own tinted glasses back on, handed Aziraphale’s glasses case back to him and led him out into the front of the shop and over to a display of frames that resembled the ones he already had.

_Is it that obvious that I’m set in my ways?_

“See anything you like the look of?”

_You._

“You really don’t have to help me; I can see one of your colleagues when I’ve chosen something.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Crowley said quickly, reaching down to retrieve a pair of frames from the display and handing them to Aziraphale. “What do you think of these?”

An energetic young woman bustled over to them, her own glasses round with thick frames.

“Getting some new glasses? I can help with that,” she beamed. “So, what are y--”

“It’s fine, Anathema,” Crowley interjected.

“But you’re due a break before your next appointment.”

“It’s _fine_.”

The young woman looked between them and then shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head as she retreated back to the counter. Aziraphale felt even _more_ guilty now. Was Crowley so concerned about Aziraphale’s mental state that he was reluctant to leave him with one of his colleagues without being able to give them a proper warning about him? Crowley certainly wouldn’t be so prepared to spend a second longer than he had to with him if he knew the _real_ reason why Aziraphale had been so on edge during the eye test.

“I don’t want to keep you from your break,” Aziraphale insisted.

“I’m fine. I have plenty of time. Why don’t you try those on?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow and studied Crowley for a moment before relenting and putting on the glasses Crowley had handed to him. He looked in the mirror and then at Crowley.

“What do you think?” Crowley encouraged.

“I like them; they look nifty,” Aziraphale replied cheerfully, earning himself a grin from Crowley. “I’m sure they’ll do nicely.”

“They really suit you. You look great,” Crowley smiled. Aziraphale glanced back at the mirror and then narrowed his eyes at Crowley. “But you shouldn’t just choose the first pair you try on. Try some others.”

“Really, these are more than adequate.”

“I’m worried you’re just saying that because you think you’re keeping me from my break.”

“No, really, they’re perfect.”

_And you chose them for me._

“Really? Or are you just trying to get away from me?”

_Is he teasing me? I think he might be teasing me. But what if he’s being serious? I don’t think I can risk it._

“No,” Aziraphale protested sincerely, “of course I’m not trying to get away from you.”

_Although you **have** been thinking about just that for the last thirty minutes._

_Oh, be quiet._

“Well, that’s good to know. As long as you’re sure?”

“Of course. I just know what I like.”

“Well, I clearly have good taste, then.” Crowley winked, eliciting more internal screaming within Aziraphale’s mind, and held out his hand to take the frames. Aziraphale stared at him like a rabbit in the headlights for a moment before tugging the glasses from his face and handing them over, willing his hands not to tremble. “Follow me.”

Crowley led Aziraphale over to the counter. With a single glance from Crowley, the young woman Aziraphale had met earlier made herself scarce. Crowley put the frames into a tray and labelled them, and Aziraphale watched him writing, just as fascinated by the movement of his hands as he had been earlier. He tried, but failed, to stop himself from imagining those hands doing other things.

Aziraphale paid for his glasses and took one last opportunity to admire Crowley’s frankly _unrealistic_ level of gorgeousness under the bright lights in this part of the shop.

“So, food festival next?” Crowley asked brightly.

“Yes, I think that’s a splendid idea.”

“Treat yourself to some of those crepes. That should set your day right.”

“My day has already improved immeasurably,” Aziraphale murmured bravely. Crowley grinned.

“I’ll give you a call when your glasses are ready for you to collect.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together. “One of your colleagues will, you mean?”

“No... it’ll definitely be me,” Crowley drawled, smiling so broadly that his eyes crinkled. Aziraphale forgot how to breathe. “If that’s all right?”

“Yes, of course,” he squeaked.

“Terrific. I’ll speak to you soon, then. It was lovely to meet you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s lungs made up for shirking their duties a moment ago by deciding to start working overtime.

“You too,” he managed. “Thank you. I hope you have a pleasant day.”

“Oh, I’m already having a pleasant day,” he smiled, leaning his elbow on the counter and resting his chin on his hand. Aziraphale’s mouth twitched into a smile in return. “Aziraphale, would it be ok if I called you some other time too? I mean, not about your glasses?”

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically for a moment.

“Oh, you mean like marketing?”

This time Crowley bit back his smile and absentmindedly rubbed his neck.

“Not for marketing, no.” There was a pause while Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and tried to work out what Crowley meant. “So I could ask if you maybe wanted to go out for coffee, or crepes, or something? With me?”

_Did he just say he wanted to ask me out?_

“Why?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

_Oh, why did I say that? I should have just said yes! Shouldn’t I? Wait, **should** I? What’s happening? Why is this happening?_

“I don’t quite know how to answer that,” Crowley said slowly after a long pause. Aziraphale just watched him, his head spinning. He really should just say yes. He could analyse it to death and worry about it later to his heart’s content. Crowley seemed really lovely, Aziraphale would never forgive himself if he... “I’ve totally misread this, haven’t I? I’m really sorry, I hope I haven’t made you feel even more uncomfortable,” Crowley sighed.

_Oh no! **No**!_

“Please call me,” Aziraphale blurted out. Crowley beamed at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes please. Anytime. About anything. Thank you.”

Crowley glanced down at the counter and drew the corner of his bottom lip into his mouth.

“Right then. Speak soon.”

“Yes. I’d like that. Goodbye, Crowley.”

“Goodbye, Aziraphale. You take care. Enjoy those crepes!” he called after him as Aziraphale walked out of the shop, forcing one foot in front of the other all the way to the nearest department store, where he proceeded to hide in the toilets. On finding no one else in there, he grinned at his reflection in the mirror and allowed himself a brief burst of muffled squealing before composing himself and setting off on his mission to find scrumptious crepes at the food festival.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this silliness that popped into my head one night when I couldn’t sleep! Thank you for reading, and as always, I’m very grateful for your comments and kudos! :-)
> 
> There *might* be a “one year later” follow-up if I feel the need to get Aziraphale back in the chair in Crowley’s consultation room. ;-)


End file.
